


Lion's death rattle

by Zazou



Series: Never A Doe [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Death, F/M, Gen, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 07:48:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4171758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zazou/pseuds/Zazou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Queen Sansa Baratheon First of her Name is faced with senseless violence and must deal with loss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lion's death rattle

How could he? No, how dare he? How dare Tyrion betray and abandon her? How had everything gone out of control so quickly?

What in the name of the Seven had he been thinking? Sansa's mind raced with curses and insults that she longed to hurl at him trying to craft the prefect phrases to verbally eviscerate him. But it didn’t matter. He was dead she would never get to tell him how she felt. 

It had all been so simple. Tywin and Tyrion had gone to Braavos to pay off a large portion of the crown’s debt with Northern timber and furs. Tyrion had been brought along because his father had decided to make him the treasurer of the Westerlands. She had thought nothing of it. Then a few days latter Sansa had been in the middle of a meeting about the crown’s new aqueduct building project when a messenger burst in with the terrible and bafflingly news. 

From all accounts the meeting at the Iron Bank went well and afterwards her grandfather and uncle retired to the mance they’d rented for their short stay. What happened next was the topic of much heated debate but the simple facts were these, Lord Tywin was found with an arrow buried in his gut, next to him lay the bodies of Tyrion and Cersei. Tyrion’s eyes had been gauged out and his neck broken but not before he managed to strangle his sister to death. The motives behind the three murders along with the question of what on earth Cersei was doing there in the first place remained a mystery. Sansa wished that she’d never been told the details of the murders. Then mayhaps she wouldn’t imagine their deaths every time she shut her eyes. 

Althestan let out a mighty yawn that echoed throughout the nearly empty sept. It would have been in bad taste to have a joint funeral for a murder and his victim so Sansa had decided to hold a private family funeral for Tyrion tonight and a grand public funeral for the great lion tomorrow. Many guests had staggered their arrival times to avoid having to attend this service so in the end the only mourners were the royal family and Tyrion’s own wife and child. 

Embarrassed, Robb shifted his young son about on his hip, trying to jostle the sleepiness out of him. Sansa couldn’t blame him for drifting off as the hypnotic chanting was enough to make her feel dazed and listless. She reached out and took their fussy babe from her flustered husband’s arms. This maybe the funereal of a kinslayer but decorum still needed to be maintained. Athelstan sneezed burying his face into his mother’s black velvet skirts. He was sensitive to incense and the stale air of the sept was thick with the stuff. Sansa rubbed Athelstan’s back and hummed softly into his ear unsure of who she was really trying to sooth. This was all so surreal. It hadn’t hit her yet. Somehow her mother’s death seemed the least real of all. Mayhaps it was because she hadn’t seen her body but instead had it spirited away to Casterly Rock. Or mayhaps Sansa thought bitterly it was because she’d lost her mother years ago. But now she’d lost her grandfather and her Uncle Tyrion as well.

Tyrion. At her wedding feast he’d asked her if she trusted him. At the time Sansa had been wary of him but by the time they’d set out for their pilgrimage to the Starry Sept he’d earned her trust. Over the years she’d come to relay on him for comfort and counsel. Sansa and Robb were very close and shared almost everything. However he was a Stark down to the bone and although she loved him for it, it also meant he had certain limitations. Clever as he was her darling husband simply didn’t understand the court games of shadowy implication, subtext and manipulation. So when Sansa needed to talk about the intricacies of Westorosi politics she went to either her grandfather or Tyrion instead of her loving yet provincial husband. 

Of course she respected her grandsire the most out of the pair but their relationship was very formal. Sansa was always walking on eggshells around him, striving to make sure she never disappointed him again. Their more relaxed rapport had lead Sansa to mistake Tyrion for a friend. She couldn’t have been more wrong. Friends don’t murder friend’s mothers. Hells, Sansa didn’t even murder her enemies’ mothers. 

His betrayal left her feeling puerile and worthless. As if deep down she was still the same stupid little girl who believed beauty and virtue went hand in hand and that good triumphed over evil, a fool, a doe. All the confidence that Sansa had built since her coronation had been ripped away in an instant. She trusted him! She’d trusted a kinslayer! How could she be so blind? After all their fireside talks and afternoon spent pouring over scrolls how had she so misjudged him? What signs had she missed? There must have been signs of what he was, what he was capable of. Her mother would have never been taken in by his lies and false friendship. Sansa had thought she’d grown into a queen, a lioness. But she was just a stupid girl! A stupid girl who never learned! 

The fact that she’d lost two brilliant political minds only added more fuel to her crisis of confidence. Sansa and her grandfather had been a team ruling the seven kingdoms together. Having the Great Lion of the West by her side had given her as much if not more legitimacy than her father’s name. She didn’t always agreed with his methods but he had been her mentor, her protector, her security, the iron gauntlet inside her velvet glove of diplomacy. He’d given her strengthen when she was weak, brought her back form the pit of despair and always pushed her to be her best. 

Sansa blinked rapidly to ease the stinging in her eyes. It anyone asked she’d blame it on the pungent smoke the septon was wafting into her face with every swing of the incense burner. She tried to swallow but she felt like she was going to choke on her tongue. To her, her grandfather was a force of nature constant and immovable. Without him she was lost. Without his guidance what was to stop her from floundering? She could drown in the murky waters of intrigue dragging her family down with her and unraveling the legacy her grandfather had sacrificed everything to create! 

Sansa glanced over at her somber yet dutiful husband. Sure, Robb would always be by her side but he could never fill her grandfather’s shoes guiding her through the ever-changing maze of political games. Athelstan started making soft little wheezing sounds and drool trickled out of the side of his mouth and onto the scalloped lace and black beading decorating the shoulder of her gown. Sansa smiled and kissed him on the temple. She turned to the cluster of servants standing at the back of the sept and motioned Kyra over. The maid quickly walked at her side her footfalls impossibly silent. 

“Take him up to the nursery.” Sansa whispered gingerly placing her baby into the maid’s arms. “It’s been a long day.” 

Kyra nodded sympathetically and gingerly scooped the infant prince from his mother’s arms. The former prostitute had bonded with the royal children. They were the only people at court who didn’t judge her for her muteness. She discreetly ushered Sansa’s sleeping babe out of the sept. 

The twins watched their brother leave brimming with envy. Daemon bit down on his lip to stifle a yawn while a bored Duncan leaned up against Grey Wind’s haunches and picking burs out of the direwolf's thick fur. Sansa felt sorry for both of them but her heart truly went out to Daemon. He had just arrived home from Casterly Rock and instead of getting to play with his brothers he had to attend funeral of his kinslaying great uncle. Worse still, his great grandfather’s untimely death meant that he was being thrust on the political stage as Warden of the West at the grand old age of three. 

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He was supposed to have more time! Sansa ran her hand over the top of Daemon’s head smoothing out his auburn locks. He looked up at her quizzically. Sansa gave him a warm reassuring smile and playfully tapped his nose with her ring finger. He grinned and barely contained a childish giggle. The tallest of the silent sisters stood up to her full height and shot the young prince a reproachful glare. Sansa stared her down with a fiery intensity she’d learned under her mother’s tutelage. Her mother. A dull yet powerful ache coursed through her body. She still couldn’t accept that her mother wasn’t out there somewhere roaming the world. But this was no time to wallow she had queenly duties to attend to, like comforting the bereaved.

Lady Jeyne stood frozen before the altar transfixed by the sight of her husband’s body her three-year old daughter Evanda clinging to her black skirts. There were tears welling in her glazed brown eyes but Sansa suspected that her good aunt was mourning her circumstances rather than her husband. Everyone knew that she hadn’t loved the half man. In fact Sansa was fairly sure that they only slept together once to consummated their marriage a theory supported by the fact that little Evanda had no siblings. Never the less Tyrion had given her a beautiful child and a home away from her domineering mother. Now, she as the widow of a treasonous kinslayer and a scion of an ancient yet penniless house it seemed like she was out of options. 

Sansa glided over to the young widow. Lady Jeyne averted her eyes clearly ashamed. Up close Sansa couldn’t help but notice how her widow’s grab washed her out aging her considerably. Little Evanda curtseyed quite gracefully for one so young and looked up at her royal cousin with her doe eyes red from crying but her chin held high. Even though she was the product of a loveless marriage both her parents adored their little girl. Tyrion had been her constant playmate always indulging her whims and amusing her with wild stories. She would miss her father even if her mother did not. Sansa impulsively reached out and tucked a stray lock of pale blonde hair back into place behind her young cousin’s ear. A child should never be made to pay for the sins of their parent. She cleared her throat and turned her attention back to her uncle’s widow. 

“Lady Jeyne, your husband may have died a murder but he was born a Lannister.” 

Her good aunt looked up at her through her lashes a flicker of hope visible in her eyes. Everyone in the sept was listening in, the servants, the self-righteous silence sisters, even the holier than thou septon. No one was immune to the thirst for court gossip. 

“You and your daughter will always have a place here.” 

“Oh thank you, Your Grace!” 

Jeyne gushed dropping into a curtsey so deep that she almost fell to her knees. She reached out and clasped Sansa’s hand between her clammy shaking palms. 

“You are most generous."

Sansa flashed her standard serene queenly smile the one that never reached her eyes. She wasn’t doing this for her uncle’s stake. He didn’t deserve any kindness after what he’d done. Nor was she acting out of the goodness of her heart. Her grandfather had taught her better than that. A ruler could not make choices based on pure sentiment. By being their savior in their hour of need Sansa would gain two loyal followers, loyal followers that she could use to secure her power throughout the realm. Love was more powerful than fear. Besides Jeyne and her daughter were Lannisters. Sansa needed all the family she could get. For one reason or other they kept slipping through her fingers no matter how desperately she tried to cling to them. 

\----

As the royal family walked down the steps of the sept Robb leaned in and whispered. 

“My father once said that his sister was bold beautiful and dead before her time.” 

“I think those words describe your mother perfectly.” 

Sansa knew that her mother would have loathed being compared to Lyanna Stark. But Robb wouldn’t see it that way. In his mind he was doing her a great kindness comparing someone with honor, his aunt, to someone without it, her mother. Still she had to admit that the comparison was apt.

“I always wanted to be just like my mother.” Sansa confessed in a barely audible whisper. “But she was all fire that was her glory and her curse.” 

“Can we all sleep in together tonight?” Duncan asked promptly interrupting his parents somber conservation.

Daemon perked up and looked up at her beseechingly. Her boys loved pilling together in the same bed. At first Kyra had worried that the twins would squish their baby brother in their sleep but Athelstan was so big and loud that it was never an issue. Her sons stayed up late and woke up with creeks in their necks but it made them happy. 

“Yes, you may. Now go, get ready for bed.” 

On cue Sansa’s ladies in waiting encircled the twins and began shepherding the princes off to their rooms 

“In a little while I’ll come up and read you a chapter of Wonders made by Man.” She called after them. 

“I hate that Daemon has to go back to the Rock so soon.” Robb lamented wistfully. “We’ve barely gotten to spend anytime with him.” 

Sansa frowned and played with her opal bracelet. She agreed with her husband’s sentiment but Daemon was facing far bigger problems than lack of quality parent time. Over the past three years he’d been an honored guest at every tourney, fair and festival in the Westerlands in an attempt to make him well known and loved by the common folk. The western nobles saw the merry toddler as a mascot not their future liege lord and Sansa had been satisfied with that, after all he was only three. But that all had to change immediately. Sansa had faith in her Great Uncle Kevan and thought his wife to be a lovely woman but that wasn’t enough to keep her mind at rest. 

“Great Uncle Kevan has agreed to let squire for him Arya.” She announced apropos of nothing. Grey Wind’s ears perked up as if he could sense that a Stark was being discussed. 

“He’ll have the master at arms train her and eventually I’ll knight her.” 

Robb suddenly stopped walking and eyed his wife incredulously. 

“It’s very kind of you to arrange all that.” He said cautiously trying in vain to hide his surprise. 

She couldn’t blame him for being taken a back. After all why would a queen take the time to do a favor for her prickly good sister when she was in the midst of a personal tragedy with huge political ramifications? 

“I want Daemon to be surrounded by family right now.”

She explained. The lords of the west would swoop down on her baby boy like a flock of filthy vultures trying to manipulate him, bending him to their will. Sansa wouldn’t have her son used as a pawn. He was a lion not a pet for the Marbrands and Crakehalls of this world. She might not like Arya but she was Daemon’s blood and the fierce she wolf would protect her nephew in his mother’s absence. 

“I’ll send her a raven right away but I can already tell you she’ll say yes. She’s always wanted to be a knight. Plus this will give her an excuse to put off marrying Jojen Reed.” 

Sansa smirked, poor Arya. From what she’d heard good sister’s betrothed was far more interested in Bran than courting Arya. At least the crannogman was used to warrior women. 

“Let’s head back to our rooms. I ordered a suckling pig and lemon sweet for us.” 

“I’ll join you in a bit.”

Sansa had another task to perform before she could read to her sons and take comfort in her husband.  
\---  
He was right where she knew he’d be, in the eastern garden by the diamond shaped pond in the magnolia grove. 

“Lord Varys.” 

“Your Grace, I am truly sorry for your lost.”

Sansa nodded stiffly watching the lily pads float peacefully along the pond’s surface. She didn’t have the time or energy to waste on pleasantries and empty platitudes she would have to suffer through enough of that tomorrow. 

“I want the Kingslayer found.”

“We’ve been trying to apprehend him for years now.” 

Sansa’s upper lip twitched as she fought back a smirk. They both knew that the manhunt for her mother and the kingslayer had been a farce. They were not found because she and Tywin hadn’t truly wanted them found. It had been easier for everyone involved if they stayed missing. 

“My mother would never have gone to Bravos without Uncle Jaime.” 

Had she gone to Bravos or had she been living there this whole time? Had the mance her grandfather rented been her mother’s home? A love nest for her and Uncle Jaime. It was said that her mother had dyed her golden hair blue in the Tyroshi manner but that could have just been part of a disguise. Sansa had no idea and with her grandfather gone she wasn’t sure how to find out. 

“He will be able to shed some light on this tragedy and give the crown some much needed answers.” 

At her core Sansa knew there was no answer that would truly give her peace. Tyrion’s betrayal had cut her to the quick and there no words could heal that wound. Whatever his reason for murdering his own father and sister it could never be good enough. Nothing could justify his heinous actions but Sansa needed to try and understand this in order to come to terms with it. The not knowing was eating away at her like an infestation of lice.

“I want him brought to me alive. His corpse will be of no use to me.” 

“Very well, Your Grace I will see to it.” Said the eunuch with an obsequious bow. 

Sansa had bought Jaime’s life and it had cost her dearly. His life was hers now and he would not leave this world without her permission. She stared down into the murky pond. The light from the setting sun caught on the cooper scale of the Pentoshi fish making them glimmer as they swam through the dark waters. 

“They were both very proud of you.” 

The unexpected complement winded her like a kick in the stomach. She looked down at her right hand at the ring her grandfather had given her to celebrate the anniversary of her coronation, a golden lion holding an emerald between his mighty jaws. Sansa took a deep breath grounding herself in the moment. She clenched her hand into a fist until her knuckles turned white. She didn't realize that she was bitting her lip util the sweet salty taste of blood flooded her mouth. Sansa couldn't afford to get emotional right now. Latter she would allow herself to process this all as a woman but for now she had to react as a queen. She would do what her grandfather uncle and mother would have wanted her to do, rebuild.


End file.
